This is an introduction (of sorts) to my poem series “Unorthodox Sympathy,” which is available to read through subscription at Channillo.com: http://channillo.com/series/unorthodox-sympathy/.
Daylight is for the living,
I have decided,
And night is for the dreamers,
Us who have nowhere else to be
But ache for somewhere to go.
We aren’t many, us midnight-dwellers,
The few of us laid out on rooftops
And stargazing long after the others
Have gone to sleep.
Little is understood about us,
And not through any fault of ours.
We crave attention,
We are talking with cracked-open skulls,
Showing you our brains full of stars.
We write with cut-open chests,
Showing you the galaxies between our ribs
With a heart as a moon.
You see silent people
With sad eyes,
And you stitch us closed in your sleep.
But sadness is only starlight, you know,
Gleaming like tears in opened eyes.
Our sad is happy,
Such an unorthodox sympathy.
And nighttime is for the dreamers,
Those who can’t sleep for fear
Of missing the next thought
And the next.
We lie on gravelly shingles,
Our bare feet scraped and our knees skinned,
We lie here dreaming,
We can’t sleep for fear of the dark
That comes when we close our eyes.
Our galactic chests rise and fall
With one breath
Our star-studded heads are unbrushed
And our lips are dry and chewed
By teeth that cannot sit still.
The night is deep and silent,
And we lie here on the rooftops,
Our eyes are wide.
If we blink, the stars go out.
©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.